


One First Time (relax, have a drink with me)

by wobblyheadeddollcaper



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9337199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobblyheadeddollcaper/pseuds/wobblyheadeddollcaper
Summary: Washington wants to rebel a little.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnAStallion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnAStallion/gifts).



George Washington left his New York townhouse in the small hours of the morning, carrying a horse pistol in one pocket of his greatcoat and trying not to think about what he was doing. It wasn't hard. He'd been resolutely avoiding thought since he'd given his word to Mr Franklin, since he'd decided to rebel against the king. In the wake of this momentous decision his life seemed strangely free of consequence, though he knew consequences to be on their way in a great onrushing wave.  
  
He turned towards the docks, his motives only half in his mind, seeking a street he knew by reputation alone.

There was a haze in the cold night air, water droplets clinging to every surface, soaking his clothes. A cough caught his attention. A young man in shabby brown with his back to a wall, close to the corner of a dark alley, pressed his fist against his closed mouth to muffle another cough.

Washington became abruptly aware that the man, shabby clothes too light for the season, must be a... That he must be working, his mind corrected hastily. Providing a service. Nothing he need think about, he would just wander over and enquire, and then any consequences would happen as they may.

Since he was about to commit treason, why abide by lesser laws? Why should he not have this one thing that he’d always wanted, always fought against?

“Are you working?” he asked diffidently.

“I guess so,” the young man replied, sounding a little bitter about it. “Since there are few other reasons to be here at this time.” His wide dark eyes glanced up at Washington’s face. “Do you have somewhere?”

Washington hesitated.

“Or there’s the alley,” the young man said, his voice sounding younger by the minute.

“I’ll lead you to my home,” Washington said. “Stay a few paces behind me as we walk, if you would be so kind.”

“As you say, sir,” the young man said, a little mockery of Washington’s manners in his voice. He fell in behind Washington easily enough, though. Their twinned footsteps thumped against the earth road, and clattered on cobblestones as they came to the paved streets where Washington had his house.

“The servants are asleep upstairs,” Washington said quietly.

“I’ll try not to shout,” the young man said flippantly, though there was a thread of fear in his voice.

Washington unlocked his door and went in, the man slipping in after him.

“I take it,” he murmured quietly, “that since you brought me home you have something more in mind than merely sticking your cock in my mouth, and can pay accordingly.”

“I… how much for the night?”

“Ten… I mean, a pound.”

“Five pounds,” Washington said. “And your complete silence concerning this encounter.”

“Silence comes as standard,” the man said, looking almost offended.

“Humour me,” Washington said. A pound seemed hardly enough to buy someone’s virtue for a night, and the young man had little enough extra flesh on his bones that he seemed in a position to turn down money. As Washington lit a candle those wide dark eyes gleamed over prominent cheekbones and a strong chin, full lips closed and unsmiling.

“What’s your name?” Washington asked, handing over the notes.

“Alexander Hamilton,” the young man said automatically, then blushed, as if he had not meant to give that name. “And you?”

Washington felt the weight of consequence closing around him. “I…”

“You’ve bought my silence, sir.” Hamilton frowned.

“I.. I do not wish to – could you, do you need one?” he said at last. Hamilton looked at him for a long moment, a level look with something of disappointment in it, and Washington felt ashamed. “I am very sorry for it, but I don’t wish to be known. I mean no insult.”

“I am told I take umbrage too easily – perhaps that’s something I shall have to change if I continue in this line of work,” Hamilton said tightly, looking away. His stomach growled audibly.

“I could do with some bread and cheese,” Washington said. “Would you join me?”

Hamilton looked at him suspiciously but consented to be led to the kitchen and fed, though he stopped eating whenever Washington did, as if rigidly controlling his appetite to appear polite. He was a strange contradiction, Washington reflected – a man selling his body but guarding his honour ferociously.

Hamilton coughed into his hand, and Washington poured them each a cup of water. Hamilton seemed to feel this had been quite enough of a pretence at a normal visit, and drained it sharply before asking:

“Well, sir, have you a bed?”

“This way,” Washington said, and led on, trying to reach for the comforting fog that had surrounded him thus far and led him to bring this stranger home.

His bedchamber was warm still, the fire burned down to embers, and Washington kindled a second candle while Hamilton shrugged off his thin jacket.

“What do you want, sir? My mouth, my hand?” Hamilton swallowed nervously, and looked Washington in the eye. “Something more?”

“I scarcely know where to begin,” Washington admitted. “Instruct me, perhaps?”

“How is it that a man as handsome as you,” _as old as you,_ Hamilton kindly did not say, “does not know what he desires?”

“I have never lain down with a man before. It just never… I had a position to guard, and a great deal of work, and I never…”

“Hush, that’s all right. Though I find it places me in something of a strange position,” Hamilton said wryly, “as I’m new at this game myself.”

“Indeed? How did you come to it?”

“I moved to America recently, and things did not go as I’d hoped. A friend told me this would be the fastest way out of my troubles, if not the most congenial - though you are much better than I was led to expect,” he added hastily, in a tone clearly intended to reassure. “A pleasant-looking man, a warm bed and all the comforts, I couldn’t have hoped for more. How about we try some things together, and you… see how they make you feel?” Hamilton sat on the bed and began to pull off his boots, and Washington followed his lead.

“I could kiss you?” Washington said tentatively.

“You can indeed,” Hamilton murmured, and leaned in to press soft lips against Washington’s own.

It was strange for a moment, a fragile thing, and then an aching heat flooded him. He moaned into the kiss and clasped at Hamilton’s shoulders, pulling him closer. It was like an ember thrown into a tinder-dry forest, decades of scrub growth going up in flames in an instant.

“Christ,” he swore against Hamilton’s lips, and wrenched himself away, pressing one hand to his mouth as if to press back the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Was that good?” Hamilton asked, his voice husky.

“Very good, I, give me more,” Washing ton said, half begging, and leaned in again.

They kissed again, more slowly, stretching it out for minutes until Washington found himself hard and rutting against Hamilton’s thigh. He would have been embarrassed, except that through professional artifice or genuine feeling Hamilton seemed almost as wrecked as he felt.

“You’re hard, sir,” Hamilton said, pressing a hand against Washington’s thigh and running it slowly up over the fabric of his breeches. “I could touch you.”

“Call me George,” Washington gasped, and froze.

“I’ll tell no one,” Hamilton reassure him quickly.  “Are you famous, to be so touchy? It doesn’t matter, I promise you. I know scarcely anyone in this country, famous or not.”

Hamilton’s hand insinuated itself into Washington’s breeches, and Washington’s eyes slid shut before he forced them open. He wanted to see everything, feel everything, if he was going to burn down his principles he wanted at least to see the light of the bonfire. Hamilton hauled him closer, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand on his cock.

“Breathe, George. No need to hold your breath, breathe and feel it. You like it, don’t you? Your cock does, anyway.”

“I like it,” Washington rasped out. “Keep going.”

“Are you close? Do you want to come all over my hand?”

Washington shuddered all over at the thought, reaching to hold Hamilton close, to press his face into the young man’s neck.

“Sounds like a yes,” Hamilton said, half laughing, and sped up the movement of his hand.

Washington choked out an indistinct sound and came, shaking. He pulled Hamilton closer still and nuzzled at his neck, which Hamilton allowed with a sort of tender amusement.

 “Sorry,” Washington apologized indistinctly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Hush, you can hold me as long as you like.”

“I didn’t know,” Washington said, in wonder and fear. Consequence had come to collect the debt – here he was with a wealth of consequence spread out before him – confirmation of his fears about his own nature, a sodomite not a celibate – and he had actions to conceal now that he’d gone so far as hiring a man to slake his lusts, and now –

“I didn’t know – how the hell am I to do without this now?” he asked despairingly.

“Need you do without it?”

“I must – I can’t do this in… where I’m going.”

“You’re leaving? That’s a shame,” Hamilton said, leaning back on his elbow. “I like this bed.”

“I see I’ve neglected you,” Washington said, looking down the length of Hamilton’s body.

“Take a few minutes to calm down, we have all night. You look like you might pull it off if you touch me now, you’re so wound up.”

Washington laughed, only a little stung. Hamilton was right – he had this one night, too short a time to waste.

“Talk to me?” He wanted a distraction from his thoughts. Hamilton lay down on the bedcover, putting a hand on his arm to coax him to do the same. They lay face to face, a few inches apart.

“What would you like to talk about?” Hamilton said flippantly. “I think I did all right for a first time, what do you think?”

“First time?”

“I did tell you I was new at this.” Hamilton looked defiant, but Washington could see now the underlying nervousness in his face.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

That was a partial relief – he might be less than half Washington’s age, but at least he was of age.

“You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to,” Hamilton said. “The whores - the other whores told me most customers don’t want to.” He looked suddenly vulnerable, curled up on the rumpled covers.

“I want to, very much. You’re very pretty,” Washington said, and was surprised to see Hamilton blush. “I expect you’ll be beautiful to watch, stripped out of those clothes-”

“There’s no need to mock me, sir,” Hamilton said sharply, rolling onto his back. His profile was furious.

“Of course I’m not making fun of you, dear boy. You’re handsome, and a very skilled lover.” God, why did the words sound so awkward in his mouth? “Is it so strange that I would like to touch you, for my own pleasure as well as yours?”

Hamilton turned his head back to glare at him, a narrow-eyed, distrustful look that told Washington exactly how strange Hamilton found it.

“You’re not getting it for free,” Hamilton said warily.

“I wouldn’t expect to,” Washington said. “In fact – I should pay you now, so that you can go if you wish.” He got up and counted out the money. “I still want you for the night, but perhaps this will make things a little easier between us.”

Hamilton took the notes held out to him, looked over them, and shoved them deep into this jacket pocket.

“Perhaps so,” Hamilton said. “I didn’t mean to offend you, sir, if I have.” Washington had rarely heard a less gracious apology.

“Since you’re staying the night…” Washington said invitingly, and pulled aside the coverlet of the bed.

Hamilton half-laughed, and went to join him.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Hamilton was awake and pulling his clothes on by the time Washington woke up, still naked and blearily reaching for him in the space under the bedclothes where his body had lain.

“Goodbye, sir.”

" What will you do next?" Washington asked, wanting to hold him a few moments longer. One night, it turned out, was a terribly short time.  
  
"Probably stand on that same street. I doubt many of my customers will be as pleasant as you, but - thank you for giving me an easy start." Hamilton reached for the door handle, then stopped. "How do I avoid your servants?"  


Washington did not answer for a moment, his head filled with the unpleasant vision of Alexander with some ugly customer, or even some man much more good-looking than Washington himself -what an ugly thing, to be so jealous.

  
"I only have a cook and a manservant. They'll be in bed still. But wait just a moment - how much would it take for you not to?"

It would be no bad thing, after all, to keep Alexander for himself if he could offer compensation. That it fed the ravenous need inside him was merely a side-benefit, he told himself, and did not believe a word of it.  
  
"Not to look for another customer? Rent till my sponsor back home can send funds. Maybe six weeks. Ten pounds - five now, thanks to you."  
  
"What if I had a way for you to earn that right now?" Alexander wouldn’t take charity, or anything that looked like it. He had to ask for something big, something he honestly wanted, some last barrier they had not crossed…  
  
"What?"  
  
"Lie down with me again and, and f-fuck me. I'll pay in advance." He fumbled for his coat and took out the money, watching Hamilton’s eyes flick to it and then away.  
  
"Pay once you're satisfied.” Hamilton crossed his arms and looked muleish. This kind of negotiation, persuading a man to accept money, was not common in Washington’s experience. Hamilton’s stubbornness was perplexing, and yet maddeningly attractive for no reason he could discern.

“God damn it, Alexander, will you please – I don’t want to pay you afterwards. I want,” he spoke with some difficulty, forcing the truth past his teeth, “the illusion that you might enjoy it.”  
  
"I know already that I would very much enjoy it,” Hamilton said softly, coming back towards the bed and hovering irresolutely at its foot. “Are you sure?” At Washington’s nod he took the notes.  
  
"I fear I could not hire another man to lie with me, when you are…” _perfect, wonderful, impossible to think of in another’s arms,_ “trustworthy and already know my secret.”

“In this instance, you’re right to trust me.” His hand drifted to rest on Washington’s ankle, hidden under a sheet. “You’ll need to turn over,” he added hesitantly.

Feeling utterly, uncomfortably naked, Washington lay on his front and listened to the soft sounds of Alexander taking off his clothes, before turning to watch. It was something to behold, those smooth limbs slipping out of coarse fabric, the slow revelation of skin in the dawn light.

“I have some oil for, um, to make it easier.”

“I have been in the army for long enough to have some idea of how it works,” Washington said. “Just… take your time. I’d like to make it last. No one will disturb us.”

It was quiet and slow, the gentle trace of fingertips down his spine, then further down still. The oil warmed rapidly against his skin, and the aching rawness of need gave way to a delicate brush of pleasure that made him catch his breath and still, anxious to catch it again. Hamilton’s fingers pulled away suddenly.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, it was good, just – God, it feels like,” _like trying to catch a butterfly without hurting it, or balancing a coin on its edge_ , _like immanence_. “It feels fragile. Good. Keep going?”

“All right.” The fingers pressed back against him, more confidently this time, and Washington pressed his face into his pillow and tried to stay quiet for the sake of his pride.

“Sir – George – I think you’re ready, do you still want me to – “

“Damn you, yes,” he grated out. His throat felt hoarse, as if he’d been moaning without realising it for some time.

A shockingly good sensation careened through his body as Hamilton’s cock stretched him open. He gasped, pinioned between pleasure and utter devastation as Hamilton thrust into him. He could die for this, he thought wildly, and then Hamilton wrapped a hand round his cock and began jerking him roughly. He had only enough thought left to clap one hand over his mouth before he came, a long throbbing pulse unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

“Good God,” Washington said weakly, some minutes later. Hamilton was plastered up against his back, sticky with sweat and drying oil.

“That good?”

“Oh yes.” Washington laughed. “How on earth did I ever go without this?” He felt a quick press of lips against the back of his neck, too quick to respond to.

“Well, it certainly suits you. You look… glowing.”

“And how was it for you?”

“Terrifyingly good.” Hamilton sounded abstracted. “Unexpected. I wish you weren’t going.” The last sentence was almost wistful, and Washington felt something of a pang. But the path he’d chosen would be dangerous enough without any further courting of disaster, and who knew what the boy’s opinions on monarchy were, or if he had any at all.

“I am very flattered, but I’m afraid my departure is inevitable,” Washington said, as gently as he could.

“As is mine,” Hamilton said, suddenly business-like. He peeled himself off the bed and began putting his clothes on, tidying his disarranged hair. “I wish you success in your endeavours, George.”

“As do I, Alexander Hamilton; every success in the world.” Washington stifled the impulse to offer more money, friendship, a place to stay: when he became a known rebel, his associates in New York would most certainly come under threat. It did not make it any easier for him to allow Hamilton to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

The retreat from New York was an ungodly mess, but they got away. Washington stood in a hastily-commandeered stable, looking over the list of candidates for the vacant aide-de-camp positions: French-speaking officers, literate and with someone’s good opinion to recommend them.

Captain Hamilton was known to be an excellent, if untrained, commander, in addition to his linguistic skills. He had no connections, but was a college man, well-liked and rumoured to be handsome. Washington thought grimly that it was surely impossible that he would be any relation of his Hamilton – street whores did not commonly belong to families from whence students and captains sprung – but the name conjured up memories he should be supressing. It did him no good to think of where the young man might have ended up in the war.

“Send for Captain Hamilton,” he told Tilghman. “John Laurens can be added to the list now.”

“With no interview, sir?”

Even if Laurens were an imbecile, he would be worth having for his father’s ear alone, Washington did not say. Tilghman was apt to let his tongue run away with him.

“I have had good reports of him,” he said instead.

It took some days for the camp to assemble, men coming in in dribs and drabs as they converged from various paths of escape. Aaron Burr cornered him in the stable – now blessed with a second table, and a chair -  one evening and bloviated on about his experiences in Canada. Washington felt a sense of relief when there was a knock on the doorframe.

“Your Excellency, sir, you wanted to see me?”

Washington felt a moment of stunned disbelief. Alexander Hamilton looked… surer of himself, older, better fed. Still startlingly handsome, still a mocking cast to his eyes.

“Hamilton, come in,” he said, too eagerly. He cast about for some way to conceal his recognition. “Have you met Burr?”

“Yes sir,” Hamilton said, and did not look at Burr. “We keep meeting.”

Burr started to talk again, and Washington felt a wave of irritation. What kind of arrogance led this man to not only give unsolicited advice to his superior officer, but to intrude on an obviously scheduled meeting?

“Burr,” Washington interrupted him. “Close the door on your way out.”

Hamilton stood at parade rest, silent until the door closed.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?”

“On the contrary,” Washington said, surprised. “You’re an exemplary officer. I – forgive me if this is indelicate, but I didn’t know it was you. That is, I didn’t connect your name with our previous meeting, until now.”

“Our previous meeting,” Hamilton said tightly. “It took me a while to find out who you were as well, sir. I saw you a few days ago. I assumed you’d found me out too.” Washington realised that Hamilton’s fists were clenching and unclenching, the muscles in his arms working.

“Captain Hamilton, why are you upset?”

“You can’t kick me out of the army.” Despite Hamilton’s aggressive tone, it was more of a plea than a demand. “I want to fight-“

“No one’s kicking you out! I wanted to talk to you about a promotion, a place on my staff.” Good Lord, what kind of hypocrite did Hamilton take him for? “What happened to you? It seems your story had a happier continuance.”

“I got a little money from home, after your funds tided me over. I was able to apply to King’s College as I’d planned, and became involved with the revolution there.” There was much more Washington wanted to know – where was home? Had Hamilton had other men, with or without payment? Did he ever think about their first meeting, as Washington often did? All questions impossible to ask, if he wanted to keep the man’s good opinion. Better to pretend, accept him as an officer and nothing more.

“You stole some cannons, I understand. A very nice piece of warcraft,” Washington said approvingly, and watched the animation return to Hamilton’s face at the praise.

“What about you, sir? I went by your place once, but the house had been closed up.”

“The night we met, I had agreed to back the colonial side. After we… I went home to Virginia to tidy up some loose ends, before all this started.”

“So early in the rebellion?” Hamilton said, his eyes flicking away as he put the facts together. “I can see your need for silence was greater than I thought. Sodomy is a hairsbreadth less serious than treason.”

“I hope you feel less insulted by my insistence on anonymity, in retrospect.”

“Oh – perhaps,” Hamilton said, laughing. “I was that obvious? I kept my word, by the way. And will continue to.”

“I had no doubt of it,” Washington said. “And we need not refer to it in our future dealings with each other. I have a need of men like you,” he said, and broke off, an unaccustomed blush rising to his face. Hamilton did not laugh, though he looked like he dearly wanted to. “I meant,” Washington said sternly, “a military need. Intelligent men with a knowledge of French and tactics, to serve as aides-de-camp.”

“I meant what I said,” Hamilton replied stubbornly. “I want to fight.”

“Good for you,” Washington said sardonically. “I want to win. We have men, but we need money, supplies and discipline to make us an army. We are weak until we organise – I need you, Hamilton. And if you have any thought of life after this war – if we win, you’ll have led this army in ways that matter. Men will know your name.”

He watched the light of ambition kindle in Hamilton’s eyes. That pride of his spurred him to excellence as well as to taking offence, it seemed. Good.

“I accept, sir. I won’t throw away this opportunity. And of course, as you say, we need not speak of the past. But I have a question…” Hamilton looked golden in the candlelight, wearing a hesitant and confiding expression that Washington found more dangerously alluring than any coquetry could have been.

“Ask it.”

“When I said that I’d kept my word, how did you trust me so easily?”

“Any decent general gains some sense for the motivations of men. And you wear your feelings very much on your sleeve, my boy.”

“So I’m told,” Hamilton muttered.

“Go settle your affairs and see your former command safely disposed, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” Washington said. “We ride at dawn.”


	4. Chapter 4

They moved west and acquired enough canvas to attempt a military camp. Washington’s partitioned campaign tent, canvas still frayed and mud-stained from the French wars in the north, was pressed into service as both sleeping quarters and command center. It had the advantage and disadvantage of keeping him close to his command at all times, woken or lulled to sleep by the low voices of his aides and the thumping footsteps of men coming and going with dispatches and reports.

As he lay one night half-dreaming, he heard Tilghman’s voice, his tone conspiratorial. “He never even interviewed Laurens. It’s all right for some.”

“What do you mean?” Hamilton asked.

“Didn’t you know? Our young Mr Laurens has lofty connections.”

“Connections.” Hamilton said in a leaden tone. “I hope that particular gossip is confined to this army?”

“Oh, Laurens has enough intrinsic merit to carry it off well,” Tilghman said blithely. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it but that, well, your war record is excellent, and you are here for merit alone, so don’t let him lord it over you just because-“

“I’ve had no insult from him and don’t expect to,” Hamilton said shortly. “If he knows he got the post thanks to his… connections I doubt he’ll give anyone cause to bring it up.”

John Laurens was indeed working as hard as anyone could wish. Washington was able to write complimentary things to his father Henry without blushing, and that alone was worth taking the boy on.

He stopped at Laurens’ desk the next day, mindful that Tilghman might have been rumor-mongering to more people than Hamilton – Hamilton would surely not discuss it, but others might.

“You’ve been working well, Laurens. Please know that I have noticed your efforts, and that your place here is more than justified by your invaluable assistance. If anyone says otherwise, they are quite wrong.” He gave Laurens’ shoulder a pat, and moved on.

Hamilton cleared his throat, and Washington turned to see Hamilton glaring at him in an almost-insubordinate manner.

“I have some letters for your signature,” Hamilton said tightly, “and a private report. Sir.”

“Bring it to my room,” Washington said, frowning. The layer of canvas offered only a veneer of privacy, but if the private report was from Mulligan or one of the other agents who were Hamilton’s especial charge, he wanted no eyes on it but his own.

Hamilton’s eyes flicked to Laurens, head bent down over his letters, then nodded.

Washington took the letters and report – Mulligan, as expected.

“Do you have something against Laurens?” Washington asked with forced mildness, speaking quietly. Best to know in advance if his aides were at each other’s throats.

“Nothing against him, sir. If your Excellency chooses to flaunt your indiscretion so openly that half the camp, perhaps even the British, know of it, then-“

“What?” Washington thundered, taken aback by Hamilton’s aggressive, insubordinate tone as much as by his inexplicable accusation.

“Was I really the first, or was it foolish of me to believe that?” Hamilton said, low and furious.

“Be silent! Are you mad?” Washington hissed. He felt fear race through him, shock, anger and betrayal setting his heart pounding.

“How long have you been sleeping with Laurens?” Hamilton whispered, spitting the question at him. “Everyone knows he got this post through his ‘connection’-“

“His father is Henry Laurens! The president of Congress, who I have had you writing letters to this past month and more!” Washington hissed back.

“I-“ All the colour drained from Hamilton’s face. “Oh, shit.”

Washington could not bring himself to chide Hamilton for swearing in front of his commanding officer – and there were more important things to establish.

“Have you told anyone of this,” Washington struggled to find words for it, “this imbecilic notion of yours?”

“No, sir,” Hamilton said, looking worried. “Not a word, I promise.”

“Thank God for that, at least.” Washington breathed, and sat down heavily on his bed. Hamilton followed, standing at rest in front of him so that they could speak quietly enough to escape being overheard. That this position put Hamilton close enough to touch had to be ignored. Washington fought not to let his eyes dip down, to fix them on Hamilton’s stricken face.

“I am sorry, sir. I just- I thought- it was such a terrible thought, that everyone knew- that the British might use such a thing-“

“You are right that such a thing would be a dangerous scandal: which is exactly why I have had no other encounters. After I left New York I knew myself committed this cause, with no room for indulgences.” To confide in Hamilton was a shameful relief, even though it compounded his transgression. But Hamilton already knew everything important, and so he was the one person it was safe to talk to.

“You have had but one night and one morning of… indulgence, in your whole life, and you’re content with that?” Hamilton looked frankly skeptical.

“I have to be.” Washington scrubbed his face with his hands. Did that mean that Hamilton was not so content with celibacy, that he had found comfort elsewhere? Stupid, dangerous question; knowledge either way would be as much of a torment as the absence of it. They had wasted enough time on error and weakness. “I will hear no more of this, do you understand? You should trust me to stay clear of scandal and keep your mind on your work.”

“It seems lonely, sir.” If there had been pity in Hamilton’s voice Washington would have recoiled from it as if from a naked flame, but Hamilton’s brow was furrowed as if loneliness was just another supply problem he could solve with enough ingenuity.

“That’s not your concern.” He attempted a smile. “Try not to think me stupider than I am. Apart from anything else, I could never attempt anything with a man under my command. It would be gross coercion.”

Hamilton nodded slowly. “Of course, sir.” He waited a moment longer, and Washington recollected himself and handed the signed letters back to him. Hamilton turned to go, but paused in the doorway.

“I wouldn’t either, sir, with any man under me.” His eyes held Washington’s for a long moment, long enough to bring heat to Washington’s face, and then he looked away. “Or above me.”

“Of course not,” Washington said, his tongue thick in his mouth. “It would be… wrong.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hamilton worked hard and displayed his intelligence as assiduously as a peacock does its tail. Add to that his notable lack of connections – no divided allegiance, as Laurens had to his father or Lafayette to his king – and he was a natural choice to handle correspondence of a sensitive nature. Washington had no need to justify his choice with any reference to Hamilton’s proven discretion, fortunate since proving the man’s complete concealment of sodomy would necessitate undoing the concealment.

 In Valley Forge the ink froze when the sun went down, and Hamilton developed the indecent habit of clamping the inkwell between his thighs to warm it as he wrote, to keep the ink liquid. Washington could see the tremors of his thigh muscles when the cold ink bottle was placed there, and had to watch Hamilton’s quill hand dipping periodically under the desk as he took dictation. As the nights drew on Hamilton would continue writing with his right hand to the point of pain, while he kept the left stuffed under his arm to avoid frostbite of the fingertips. Washington would see him shiver, his shoulders hunched over and shaking, and suffer peculiarly vivid sense memories of New York fog curling around them, Hamilton in a too-thin jacket on a street corner. Each time, he pushed them away. It was only hunger talking, hunger which made distraction so damnably easy to fall into, hunger that longed to replace the cold with body-heat.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we,” Hamilton said one night, his voice quiet. He was obviously attempting to sound cynical, but succeeded only in sounding as if he was scared and trying to hide it. The tent was empty apart from Laurens snoring gently in a corner next to the brazier. Hamilton and Washington had silently agreed to let the boy sleep on, for he seemed so very boyish asleep. Laurens awake was fire and fury, Laurens asleep a rather drawn young man with a childish frown. None of them had been sleeping much.

“No,” Washington said, forcefully and low. “And I will not admit that as a possibility to plan for. Some of us may perish, but I will drag this army through to spring come hell and the devil himself.”

“A little hell-fire might warm the place up,” Hamilton muttered.

“Hamilton, I will not have you saying such things. Ever.”

“I am sorry, your Excellency. Of course not.” Hamilton’s face went politely blank, in what Washington knew to be his way of humouring his commander. It was as irritating to him as Hamilton could possibly have wished. Washington took a deep breath, and tried to approach the matter rationally. Hamilton’s greatest fault as a soldier was his constant need for explanations.

“Understand me clearly, I am no prude – swear all you want, though you’ll get no respect for it. You are, however, known to be my right hand, to know everything I do of our situation. If you walk around telling people we will not last the winter, they’ll believe you.”

“I see, yes,” Hamilton said after a moment, looking a little flattered to have his importance acknowledged. “I’m like Caesar’s wife, and have to be seen to be beyond suspicion – or doubt, in this case.”

“A further burden for you, I’m afraid.”

“At least you don’t hold me to my conjugal duties,” Hamilton said jokingly, then froze.

There was a fraught silence. Laurens snored on.

“I was not aware you thought that a possibility,” Washington said, with the exquisite care of a man stepping on very thin ice.

“Not exactly – you’ve made your opinions clear, sir, and I would never ask you for more.”

 _Ask you_ \- a whole vista of possibility was opened by those words. One does not ask for something one does not want. It was like seeing the outline of a vase resolve into two faces, a shift in perception.

“Do you know, I had no idea it was an experience you might ever want to repeat until this moment,” Washington said, so surprised he scarcely knew what to say but knowing he must say something, that this was a crucial moment.

“It wasn’t bad,” Hamilton said tentatively, looking with furious concentration at the papers in front of him.

Then Lafayette’s voice sounded outside and the thought, the shared awareness of possibility, was left hanging between them like the ring of a sounded bell.


	6. Chapter 6

After their interrupted conversation Washington felt a steady magnetic pull towards Hamilton, like the moment after tripping when the ground looms up perfectly foreseen and yet unavoidable. He let his hand brush against Hamilton’s, handing over dispatches, and Hamilton leaned into the touch. He confided in him, and Hamilton opened like a flower under the preferential attention. It seemed like suddenly finding a countryman in a foreign land, as if he was hearing his native tongue after a long absence abroad. Like a shared secret.

There may be a difference between falling against your will, and wanting to fall so badly that you cannot prevent yourself. Inevitability is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

All the elements fell into place like pins in a lock. For General Washington to work late into the night was mere diligence, with so much undone and so much to do. As a matter of course the aides de camp must be given leave to turn in for the night and rest after a hard day’s work. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton refusing to leave in the middle of a letter raised no eyebrows, and thus he stayed after the others had left.

So there they were, alone and unlikely to be interrupted, the camp quiet around them. Hamilton scratched out his letter and Washington read, or tried to.

“You seem distracted,” Hamilton said, breaking the quiet. It was less an attempt at conversation than the opening movement of a pawn in a game of chess.

“I am,” Washington said, making no defensive move. “A sorry state.” He should go to bed, he should leave, he should dismiss Hamilton. He did none of these things.

“And is there no cure for such distraction?” Hamilton asked, almost playfully.

“What do you suggest?” Washington asked.

“Tell me what weighs on your mind, perhaps,” Hamilton offered.

“You,” Washington said, and the word echoed in the silence with all the force of a gunshot.

“What?” Alexander sounded honestly shocked, and Washington’s thoughts about inevitability vanished like soap bubbles popping. It had been delusion, all of it. His limbs froze in panic.

“I am sorry, I should not have-“

“But you have, and now you had better be out with it.”

“I think of you – carnally. Often. Intrusively. I thought after our conversation that perhaps I might not have been alone in my… recollections.”

“What if I do think of it?” Hamilton said truculently. “Whatever our thoughts, the obstacles to them are still there.”

“Do you think that if I never touch you again I shall be less distracted than I am now? Do you think I am impartial where you are concerned? I cannot be. Not because we lay together once, not because I want you, but because you are… yourself.”

“Are you trying to say that you _like_ me?” Hamilton said derisively, and the sting of it was like grasping a hot coal, so sudden and painful was the shock.

“You – you viper,” Washington said, his voice shaking. “I can’t imagine why, but I do like you, damn my soul for it.”

“God, sir, I’m a wasp to sting you so,” Hamilton said apologetically. “I’m sorry, I am unused to receiving such affection.”

“Evidently so, if you call it mere affection.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hamilton asked warily.

“In God’s name, I am so tired.” Washington felt suddenly on the verge of tears. “Do not tease me, I beg of you. You know – you must know – that I love you.”

“I knew no such thing,” Hamilton said, looking rather pale about the mouth. “That is, I knew you wanted me still, but not that.”

“I will not importune you,” Washington said stiffly, trying to gather the tattered rags of his dignity around him. “But I could not go on concealing it. Not when I had the hope that you might not reject me.”

Hamilton looked away. “It was only one night,” he said softly. Washington saw suddenly that Hamilton was hopeful under the shock, that he wanted quite desperately to be convinced that he was loved.

“I love you,” he said again, inadequately. “I wish I could show you.”

Hamilton rose and straightened the papers on his desk, his hands shaking.

“I cannot address this now,” he said, determined and nervous. “I should – I need to think this over. But I am not rejecting you, sir. George. General. I… I should go.”

“Good night, Hamilton.” Washington watched Hamilton hurry from the tent and hope ached in his breast like an old scar reopened.


End file.
